Cell Mate
by SwayingAspen
Summary: A betrayal results in Harry being imprisoned alongside a beaten and tortured Draco Malfoy. A story of bonding, loss, obsession, and perhaps true love. H/D slash. Non-DH compliant. WARNING: violence, blood, gore, language...don't read if you're squeamish!


**Disclaimer**: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Entertainment own the Harry Potter series and films. Any likeness you read most definitely comes from them.

**Prologue**

_Four Years After the Death of Albus Dumbledore ~ 27 September 2000_

Harry was still in shock.

Five hours, twenty eight minutes, and forty seconds had passed since then, and he was still in shock.

A faint _drip, drip_ of unidentifiable liquid sounded from somewhere, never-ending but never constant, as if it purposefully and almost successfully attempted to drive him mad.

Only almost successfully. Because Harry was still in shock.

Mad-Eye's head, cleanly detached from the rest of his body, flying across the air and finally smacking wetly onto the unforgiving concrete replayed again and again behind Harry's closed eyelids. The _drip, drip_ of the sprays of Mad-Eye's blood as it splattered fucking _everywhere_ echoed in his head, comingling with the god-forsaken _drip, drip_ in the cell.

Yes, he was in a cell. An eight feet by eight feet cell separated from other cells by thick metal bars. It was cold, it was foul, it was damp, and it was a fucking _cell_, and Harry was still in shock.

Betrayal. Stabbed in the back. Deception. Treachery.

It seemed impossible. Downright ridiculous. But there it is. They had been betrayed. Mad-Eye and him, specifically. Betrayed by the third member of their team.

Harry still couldn't wrap his head around it. There was no way – _no fucking way_ – that they were betrayed by _her_.

But she did. And Mad-Eye's off to the great beyond. And here he was.

Harry was still in shock.

The sound of footsteps interrupted the macabre movie playing in Harry's head, and with some difficulty, he opened his eyes. Dully, he looked around at the stone walls and metal bars, and he noted with disappointment that the past few hours had not only been a nightmare.

The footsteps became louder, and Harry got up from his prone position to settle more comfortably on his knees. He would stand, except he was weary, and he didn't want to.

When three figures entered the prison, Harry could feel his eyes widen. They obviously weren't here to see him. Two Death Eaters, complete with their black robes and white masks, were carrying one person in between them, briskly marching the unfortunate figure to the cell adjoining Harry's. With quick efficiency, they threw their burden into the cell, locked the door, and ran back out of the prison without bothering to explain themselves.

Harry paid no attention to the Death Eaters, though. His gaze was fixed on the figure that was left in the neighboring cell. Or more specifically, on the platinum blond hair that was attached to the figure's head.

The Death Eaters had thrown the newcomer in such a way so that he was lying on his stomach, his face turned toward Harry, and with more shock on top of the shock that was already there, Harry recognized the pale, elegant face belonging to his old school rival, Draco Malfoy.

The man's cheeks had softened somewhat since their school days, and his nose now looked like it belonged there in the middle of his face instead of sticking out like some unfortunate goose's bill. The white-blond hair was exactly the same, though, and it shone like pure light in the gloom of the prison. It was unmistakably him, Draco Malfoy, and Harry wondered if he had gone crazy without even realizing it.

His eyes traveled down from Malfoy's face, and suddenly, it felt as if the floor had dropped down from beneath him.

His torn shirt, probably nice and expensive in its better days, was drenched sickeningly with blood. It barely hid the numerous contusions and weeping cuts that covered his torso. Even Malfoy's trousers could hardly be seen by how thoroughly it was saturated in the dark red-black of fresh blood.

The blood didn't really bother Harry, however. He'd watched a decapitated head go flying after all.

It was the _bones_.

Malfoy's right arm, the arm closer to Harry, was bent unnaturally. It was bent in a way that completely detached the radius from the humerus, and the bone _stuck out_ clearly from his skin. The bone gleamed white despite the copious amount of blood, and Harry couldn't help but stare at it in morbid fascination.

And Malfoy's right foot was hanging onto his ankle by only a small strip of skin. It would be so easy to just grab it and yank it completely off. Then, boom, Malfoy would be footless.

Harry's stomach turned queasily.

It was disturbing, somehow, to see such destruction done to the body but have the face so unmarred. From the neck up, Malfoy appeared to simply be enjoying a nice nap. From the chest down…he was mangled seemingly beyond repair.

Harry stiffly got to his feet and shuffled closer to the bars separating their cells. He wrapped his hands around the bars and rested his face against two more, staring intently into Malfoy's face, determinedly looking away from the shining piece of bone and the almost detached foot.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed.

The blond probably needed his sleep, but Harry was curious. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Why was he down here in a prison, and not out there attacking aurors and taking over Wizarding cities?

"Malfoy!" Harry said louder when Malfoy hadn't stirred. Harry looked around his own small cell to see if there was anything he could throw to wake the other up.

Of course, there was nothing. His cell was completely empty except for his own self.

He turned back to Malfoy and only jumped a little when he met surprisingly clear, silver eyes. Harry swallowed, and the click of his throat was loud in the silence of the prison.

Malfoy closed his eyes in a slow blink, and then he opened them and dragged his gaze up and down Harry's body, starting at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead to the tips of his worn sneakers. Finally, he settled for maintaining eye-contact with Harry, and his expression turned into slight disbelief.

"Holy shit," Malfoy rasped, his throat convulsing with the effort of talking. "It's Scarhead."

Before Harry could open his mouth to reply, Malfoy's eyes had rolled to the back of his head and he clearly lost consciousness.

Harry stood back from the bars, unable to keep his gaze from Malfoy's face.

Holy shit, indeed.

Harry was still in shock.

**AN:** I would love to hear your opinions so far!


End file.
